


SCYTHE: Part two: NO LAWS BEYOND THESE

by orphan_account



Series: Scythe [2]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: M/M, Mpreg, um pretty much the same tags as the first one...
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-03-30 03:58:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 17,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13942110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Second part to the series. You should read the first one first.LOL I made a google classroom for SEVENTEEN, and so if you would like to join the class code u4tthf0Based off a book called ScytheON HIATUS, I'M SO SO SO SORRY, I'LL CONTINUE IT WHEN I GET BETTER





	1. Chapter 1

The Scythe Commandments 

 

  1. > Thou shalt kill.

  2. > Thou shalt kill with no bias, bigotry, or malice aforethought

  3. > Thou shalt grant an annum of immunity to the beloved of those who accept your coming, and to anyone else you deem worthy.

  4. > Thou shalt kill the beloved of those who resist 

  5. > Thou shalt serve for the span of thy days, and thy family shall have immunity as recompense for as long as you live.

  6. > Thou shalt lead an exemplary life in word and deed, and keep a journal of each and every day.

  7. > Thou shalt kill no scythe behind thyself. 

  8. > Thou shalt claim no earthly possessions save thy robes, ring, and journal.

  9. > Thou shalt have neither spouse nor spawn.

  10. > Thou shalt be beholden to no laws beyond these.




>  
> 
> Once a year I fast and ponder the commandments. In truth, I ponder them daily, but once a year I allow them to be my sole sustenance. There is genius in their simplicity. Before the Thunderhead, governments had constitutions and massive tomes of laws - yet even then, they were forever debated and challenged and manipulated. Wars were fought over the different interpretations of the same doctrine.
> 
>  
> 
> When I was much more naive, I thought that the simplicity of scythe commandments made them impervious to scrutiny. From whatever angle you approached them they looked the same. Over my many years, I've been both bemused and horrified by how malleable and elastic they can be. The things we scythes attempt to justify. The things we excuse. 
> 
>  
> 
> In my early days, there were several scythes still alive who were present when the commandments were formed. Now none remain, all having invoked commandment number seven. I wish I would have asked them how the commandments came about. What led to each one? How did they decide upon the wording? Were there any that were jettisoned before the final ten were written in stone?
> 
>  
> 
> And why number ten?
> 
>  
> 
> Of all commandments, number ten gives me the greatest pause for thought. For to put oneself above all other laws is a fundamental recipe for disaster.
> 
>  
> 
> _\- FROM THE GLEANING JOURNAL OF H.S Scarame_


	2. An Elegy of Scythes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The businessman in seat 15C gets a different trip then he expected.

Scythe

bueller

  
  
  


The flight was on time. As usual. While weather couldn’t entirely be controlled, it was easily diverted away from airports and out of flight paths. Most airlines boasted 99.9 percent on-time service.

 

It was full flight, but with the lavishly appointed seats of modern air travel, it didn’t feel crowded at all. These days flying was as comfortable as sitting in one’s own living room, with the added perk of live entertainment. String quartets and vocal stylists soared across the skies with a cabin full of contented passengers. Air travel these days was far more civilized than in the Age of Mortality. It was now an exceptionally pleasant way to reach one’s destination. Today, however, the passengers of BigSky Air flight 922 were on their way to a different destination than the one on which they planned.

 

The businessman was seated comfortably in seat 15C - an aisle seat. He always requested that seat, not out of superstition but out of habit. When he didn’t get seat 15C, he was cranky, and resentful to whoever did. The company he ran, which was developing hibernation technology, would someday make the longest journeys seem to pass in a matter of minutes, but for now he would be happy with BigSky Air, as long as he got seat 15C.

 

People were still filing on, taking their seats. He eyed the passengers moving down the aisle with mild disinterest, but only to make sure they didn’t hit his shoulder with their purses and carry-ons as they passed.

 

“Are you heading out or heading home?” asked the woman sitting beside him in 15A. There was no 15B - the concept of the B seat, where one had to sit between two other passengers, had been eliminated along with other unpleasant things, like disease and government.

 

“Out,” he told her. “And you?”

 

“Home,” she told him with a heavy but relieved sigh.

 

At five minutes to departure, a commotion upfront caught his attention. A scythe had entered and was talking to a flight attendant. When a scythe wants to travel, any seat is far game. The scythe could displace a passenger, forcing them to take a different seat, or even a different flight if there were no other available seats. More unnerving, however, were tales of scythes who gleaned the passenger from the seat they took.

 

The businessman could only hope this particular scythe didn’t have his sights set on seat 15C.

 

The scythe’s robe was unusual. Royal blue, speckled with glittering jewels that appeared to be diamonds. Rather ostentatious for a scythe. The businessman didn’t know what to make of it. The age the scythe presented was late thirties, although that meant nothing. No one looked their true age anymore; he could have been anywhere from thirty-something to two-hundred-thirty-something. His hair was dark and well-groomed. His eyes were invasive. The businessman tried not to catch his gaze as the scythe looked down the aisle into the cabin.

 

Then three more scythes appeared behind the first. They were younger - perhaps in their early twenties. Their robes, each was a different bright colour, which were also decorated with gems. There was a dark haired woman in apple green speckled with emeralds, a man in orange speckled with rubies, and another man in yellow speckled with golden citrines.

 

What was the collective word for a group of scythes? An “elegy wasn’t it? Odd that there’d be a word for something so rare. In his experience, scythes were always solitary, never traveling together. A flight attendant greeted the elegy of scythes, and then the second they were past her, she turned, left the plane, and ran down the jetway.

 

‘ _ She’s escaping, _ ’ thought the businessman. But then he banished the thought. She couldn’t be. She was probably just hurling to let the gate agent know of the added passengers. That’s all. She couldn’t be panicking - flight attendants were trained not to panic. But then the remaining flight attendant closed the door, and the look on her face was anything but reassuring.

 

The passengers began talking to one another. Mumbling. A little bit of nervous laughter.

 

Then the lead scythe addressed the passengers. “Your attention please,” he said with an unnerving smile. “I regret to inform you that this entire flight has been selected for gleaning.”

 

The businessman heard it, but his brain told him that he could not have possibly heard correctly. Or maybe this was scythe humour, if such a thing even existed. _ ‘This entire flight has been selected for gleaning’ _ . That couldn’t be possible…. It couldn’t be allowed, could it?

 

In a few moments passengers began to wrap their minds around what the scythe had said. Then came the gasps, the wails, the whimpers, and finally uncontrolled sobs. The misery could not have been worse had they lost an engine in flight, as planes did back in mortal days, when technology occasionally failed.

 

The businessman was a quick study, and excelled at split-second decisions in crisis. He knew what he had to do. Perhaps others were thinking the same thing, but he was the one who took action first. He left his seat and hurled himself down the aisle toward the back of the plane. Others followed him, but he was the first to the back door. He quickly scanned it’s operation, then pulled the red lever and swung the door open into a bright sunny morning.

 

A jump from this height to the tarmac might have broken a bone or twisted an ankle, but the healing nanites in his blood would quickly release opiates and deaden the pain. He’d be able to escape in spite of any injury. But before he could leap, he heard the lead scythe say:

 

“I suggest you all return to your seats you value the lives of your loved ones.”

 

It was standard procedure for scythes to glean the families of those who resist or run from being gleaned. Familial gleaning was a remarkable deterrent. But this was a full plane - if he jumped and ran, how would they know who he was?

 

As if reading his mind, the lead scythe said:

 

“We have the manifest from this plane. We know the names of everyone on board. Including the name of the flight attendant who displayed cowardice unbecoming to her position and left. Her entire family will pay the price, along with her.”

 

The businessman slid down to his knees and put his head in his hands. A man behind him pushed past and jumped anyway. He hit the ground and ran, more worried by what was happening at the moment than what might happen tomorrow. Perhaps he had no family he cared about, or perhaps he’d rather they journey with him into oblivion. But as for the businessman, he could not bear the thought of his omega mate and children being gleaned because of him.

 

‘ _ Gleaning is necessary _ ,’ he told himself. Everyone knows, everyone has agreed this is a crucial necessity. Who was he to go against it? It only seemed terrible now that he was the one lined up in the cold crosshairs of death.

 

Then the lead scythe raised an arm and pointed at him. His fingernails seemed just the slightest bit too long.

 

“You,” he said, “the bold one. Come here.”

 

Others in the aisle stepped aside and the businessman found himself moving forward. He couldn’t even feel his legs doing it. It was as if the scythe were pulling him with an invisible string. His presence was that commanding.

 

“We should glean him first,” said the blonde, brutish scythe in a bright orange robe, wielding what appeared to be a flame thrower. “Glean him first to set an example.”

 

But the lead scythe shook his head. “First of all, put that thing away; we will not play with fire on a plane. Secondly, setting an example presupposes that someone will be left to learn from it. It’s pointless when there’s no one to set an example for.”

 

He lowered his weapon and looked down, chastised. The other two scythes remained silence.

 

“You were so quick to leave your seat,” the lead scythe said to the businessman. “Clearly you’re the alpha of this plane, and as alpha I will allow you to choose the order in which these good folks shall be gleaned. You can be last if you choose, but first you must select the order of the others.”

 

“I…..I…   
  


 

“Come now, no indecisiveness. You were decisive enough when you ran to the back of the plane. Bring that formidable will to bear on this moment.”

 

Clearly the scythe was enjoying this. He shouldn’t enjoy it - that’s one of the basic precepts of Scythedom. A random part of his mind thought, ‘ _ I should lodge a complaint. _ ’ Which he realised would be very difficult to do if he was dead.

 

He looked to the terrified people around him - now they were terrified of him. He was the enemy too, now.

 

“We’re waiting,” said the woman in green, impatient to begin.

 

“How?” The man asked, trying to control his breathing, stalling for time. “How will you glean us?”

 

The lead scythe filled back a fold of his robe to display and entire collection of weapons neatly concealed beneath. Knives of various lengths. Guns. Other objects that the man didn’t even recognize. “Our method will be as our mood suits us. Sans incendiary devices, of course. Now please start choosing people so we may begin.”

 

The female scythe tightened her grip on the handle of a machete and brushed back her dark hair with her free hand. Did she just actually lick her lips? This would not be a gleaning, it would be a bloodbath, and the businessman realized he wanted no part of it. Yes, his fate was sealed - nothing could change that. Which meant he didn’t have to play the scythe’s twisted game. Suddenly he found himself sublimating his fear, rising to a place where he could look the scythe in his dark eyes, the same deep shade of blue as his robe.

 

“No,” began the man, “I will not choose and I will not give you the pleasure of watching me squirm.” Then he turned to the other passengers. “I advise everyone here to end your own lives before these scythes get their hands on you. They take pleasure in it. They don’t deserve their rank anymore then they deserve the  _ honour  _ of gleaning you.”

 

The lead scythe glared at him, but only for a moment. Then he turned to his three companions. “BEGIN!” he ordered. The others drew weapons and began their awful gleaning. One being more kind than the others.

 

“I am your completion,” the lead scythe said loudly to the dying. “I am the last word of your lives well lived. Give thanks. And thus farewell!”

 

The lead scythe pulled out his own blade, but the businessman was ready. The moment the blade was drawn, he thrust himself forward onto it - a final willful act, making death his own choice, rather than the scythe’s. Denying the scythe; if not his method, then his madness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NO ONE WILL BE ABLE TO GUESS WHO THE KINDER SCYTHE IS!!


	3. From the gleaning journal of H.S. Scarame

> In my early years, I wondered why it was so rare to catch a scythe out of his or her robes in common street clothes. It's a rule in some places, but not in MidMerica. Here it is just an accepted practice although rarely violated. Then, as I settled in, it occurred to me why it must be. For our own peace of mind, we scythes must retain a certain level of separation from the rest of humanity. Even in my own home I find myself wearing only the simple lavender frock that I wear beneath my robes.
> 
>  
> 
> Some would call this behaviour aloof. I suppose on some level it is, but for me it's more the need to remind myself that I am “other.”
> 
>  
> 
> Certainly, most uninformed positions allow the wearers to have a separate life. Peace officers and firefighters, for instance, are only partially defined by their job. In the off hours they wear jeans and T-shirts. They have barbecues for neighbors and coach their children in sports. But to be a scythe means you are a scythe every hour of everyday. It defines you to the core of your being, and only in dreams is one free of the yoke.
> 
>  
> 
> Yet even in my dreams I often find myself gleaning…
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _-FROM THE GLEANING JOURNAL OF H.S. Scarame_


	4. Killcraft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being a scythe is lonely...

Scythe

bueller

  
  
  
  


“During your year with me,” Scythe Airemin told Mingyu and Wonwoo, “you will learn the proper way to wield various blades, you will become marksmen in more than a dozen types of firearms, you will have a working knowledge of toxicology, and you will train in the deadliest of martial arts. You will not become masters in these things - that takes many years - but will have the basic skills upon which you will build.”

 

“Skills that will be useless for the one you don’t choose,” Wonwoo pointed out.

 

“Nothing we learn is useless,” he told the omega.

 

While the scythe’s house was modest and unadorned, it had one impressive feature: the weapons den. It had once been the garage of the old house, but now was lined with they scythe’s extensive weapons collection. One wall was lined with the scythe’s extensive weapons collection. One wall was hung with blades, another firearms. A third wall looked like a pharmacist’s shelf, and the fourth held more archaic objects. Elaborately carved bows, a quiver of obsidian-tipped arrows, frighteningly muscular crossbows - even a mace, although it was hard for them to imagine Scythe Airemin taking someone out with a mace. The fourth wall was more of a museum, they supposed, but the fact that they weren’t sure was unsettling.

 

The daily regimen was rigorous. Mingyu and Wonwoo trained with blades and staffs, sparring against the scythe, who was strong and limber. They learned to shoot at a special firing range for scythes and apprentices, where weapons that were banned for public use were not only allowed, but encouraged. They learned the basics of Black Widow Bokator - a deadly version of the ancient Cambodian martial art developed specifically for the Scythedom. It left them exhausted, but stronger than either of them had been before.

 

Physical training, however, was only half of their regimen. There was an old oak table in the center of the weapons den, clearly a relic from the Age of Mortality.This is where Scythe Airemin spent several hours a day schooling them in the ways of a scythe.

 

Studies in mental acuity history, and the chemistry of persons - as well as daily entries in their apprentice journals. There was more to learn about death than either of them had ever considered.

 

“History, chemistry, writing - this is like school,” Mingyu grumbled to Wonwoo one night as they lay in bed - snuggling, but they’d both deny it if ever asked -, because he wouldn’t dare complain to Scythe Airemin.

 

And then there was the actual gleaning.

 

“Each scythe must perform a quota  of two hundred sixty gleanings per year,” Scythe Airemin told them, “which averages to five a week.”

 

“So you get weekends off,” joked Mingyu - trying to add a little nervous levity to the discussion. But Scythe Airemin was not amused. For him nothing about gleaning was a laughing matter. “On days that I don’t glean, I attend funerals and do research for future gleanings. Scythes… or should I say  _ good  _ scythes… don’t often have days off.”

 

The idea that not all scythes were good was something neither Mingyu or Wonwoo had ever considered. It was widely accepted that scythes adhered to the highest moral and ethical standards. They were wise in their dealings and fair in their choices. Even the ones who sought celebrity were seen to deserve it. The idea that some scythes might not be as honourable as Scythe Airemin did not sit well with either of his new apprentices.

  
  


* * *

  
  


The raw shock of gleaning never left Wonwoo. Although Scythe Airemin had not, since that first day, asked them to be the life-taking hand, being an accomplice was difficult enough. Each untimely end came draped in its own shroud of dread, like a recurring nightmare that never lost its potency. He had thought he would grown numb -  that he would become used to the work. But it didn’t happen.

 

“It means I chose wisely,” Scythe Airemin told him. “If you do not cry yourself to sleep on a regular basis, you are not compassionate enough to be a scythe.”

 

He doubted Mingyu cried himself to sleep - the omega knew for a fact he didn’t, at least, he waited until after Wonwoo was asleep - he was the type of kid who kept his emotions very much to himself. The omega couldn’t read him. He was opaque, and it bothered him. Or perhaps he was so transparent, the omega was seeing through him to the other side. He couldn’t be sure.

 

They quickly learn that Scythe Airemin was very creative in his gleaning methods. He never repeated the exact same method twice.

 

“But aren’t scythes who are ritualistic in their wok,” Wonwoo asked him, “performing each gleaning exactly the same?”

 

“Yes, but we must each find our own way,” he told the omega. “Our own code of conduct. I prefer to see each person I glean as an individual deserving of an end that is unique.”

 

He outlined for them the seven basic methods of killcraft. “Most common are the three Bs: blade, bullet, and blunt force. The next three are asphyxiation or fire - although I find fire as a horrific way to glean and would never use it. The final method is weaponless force, which is why we train you in Bokator.”

 

To be a scythe, he explained, meant that no one had to be well versed in all methods. Wonwoo realized that being “well versed” meant he would have to participate in various types of gleaning, Would he have him pull the trigger? Thrust the knife? Swing the club? He wanted to believe he wasn’t capable - that he couldn’t be a scythe. It was the first time he aspired to fail.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


Mingyu’s feeling on the matter were mixed. He found that Scythe Airemin’s moral imperative and ethical high ground infused Mingyu with purpose - but only in the scythe’s presence. When left to his own thoughts, Mingyu doubted everything. Burned into his mind was the look on that woman’s face as she fearfully yet obediently opened her mouth to be poisoned. The look on her face the moment before she bit down. ‘ _ I am an accomplice to the world’s oldest crime _ ,’ he told himself after Wonwoo would fall asleep - on Mingyu’s chest, which would do funny flips every time - ‘ _ And it will only get worse. _ ’

 

While the journals of scythes were public record, an apprentice still had the luxury of privacy. Scythe Airemin gave Mingyu and Wonwoo pale leather-bound volumes of rough-edged parchment. To Mingyu it looked like a relic from the dark ages. He wouldn’t have been surprised if Airemin gave them a feather quill to go with it. Mercifully, however, they were allowed to use normal writing utensils.

 

“A scythes journal is traditionally made of lambskin parchment and kid leather.”

 

“I assume you mean ‘kid’ as in ‘goat’,” said Mingyu, “and not ‘kid’ as in ‘kid.”

 

That finally made the scythe laugh. Wonwoo seemed to be annoyed that he made Airemin laugh - as if it put him a  point ahead of the omega. Mingyu knew that as much as Wonwoo hated the idea of being a scythe, Wonwoo would jockey for position over him because that’s just how the omega was hardwired. Competition was in the omega’s nature; he couldn’t help it.

 

Mingyu was much better at picking his battles. He could compete when necessary, but rarely got caught up in petty alpha (“AND OMEGA!” A Wonwoo sounding voice yelled inside his head) posturing. He wondered if he could use that over Wonwoo, he knew it would annoy the omega to now ends, but he didn’t want the omega hitting him to wake him up, he much preferred the omega gently shaking him awake and them getting up.

 

Being a scythe wasn’t his life choice. He had not made any life choices yet, so he had no clue what he would do with his eternal future. But now he was being mentored by a scythe, he began to feel like he might have the mettle to be one. If Scythe Airemin had selected him as morally capable of the job, perhaps he was.

 

As for the journal, Mingyu hated it. In a large family where no one particularly cared to hear his thoughts on anything, he’d grown accustomed to keeping his thoughts to himself.

 

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” Wonwoo said as they worked in their journals after after dinner one evening. “No one will ever read it but you.”

 

“So why write it?” Mingyu snapped back. 

 

Wonwoo sighed as if talking to a child. “It’s to prepare you for the writing an official scythe’s journal. Whichever one of us gets the ring will be legally obligated by commandment six to keep a journal everyday of our lives.”

 

“Which I’m sure no one will read.” Added Mingyu.

 

“But people  _ could  _ read it. The Scythe Archive is open to everyone.”

 

“Yeah,” said Mingyu, “like the Thunderhead. People can read anything, but no one does. All they do is play games and watch cat holograms.”

 

Wonwoo shrugged. “All the more reason not to care about writing one. If it’s lost among a gazillion pages, you can write your grocery list and what you ate for breakfast. No one will care.”

 

But Mingyu cared. If he was going to put a pen to paper - if he was going to do as a scythe does - he would to it right or not at all. And so far, as he looked at his painfully blank page, he was leaning towards “not at all”.

 

He watched at Wonwoo wrote, completely absorb in the journal before him. From where he sat, he couldn’t read what he had written, but he could tell it was in fine penmanship. It figures the omega would take a class like that at school. Mingyu supposed he’d have to learn to write in cursive if he became a scythe, but right now he’d be stuck with inelegant, sloppy printing.

 

He wondered, had Wonwoo and he had been in the same school, would they have gotten along? They probably wouldn’t have known each other. The omega was the type who confronts, the alpha was the one who avoided, very opposite of their stereotypes. Their circles were about as far from intersecting as Mercury and Pluto. Now however, they had been pulled into convergence. They were not exactly friends - they hadn’t enough time to develope friendship before being thrust into this shit apprenticeship. Mingyu didn’t understand his feelings about the omega - the omega he shared a bed with, the omega he’s currently teaching to cook, the omega he waits for before going to bed, the omega he would learn with, the omega he so desperately wanted to kiss - and for now those feelings were ok, because he was ok with watching  _ his  _ omega write.

 

* * *

  
  


Scythe Airemin was strict on his no-family policy. “It’s ill-advised for you to have contact with your family during your apprenticeship.” It was difficult for Wonwoo. He missed his parents but more than that. He missed his brother, Jungkook- which surprised him, because at home, he never had much patience for him.

 

Mingyu seemed to have no problem with being separated from his family.

 

“They’d much rather have their immunity than have me around, anyway.” He told Wonwoo as both of them lay awake at night.

 

“Boo hoo,” Wonwoo said, “Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?”

 

“Not at all. Evious maybe. It only makes it easier for me to leave behind.

 

Scythe Airemin did bend his own rule once, however. About a month in, he allowed Wonwoo to attend his aunt’s wedding.

 

While everyone else was dressed in gowns and tuxedos, Scythe Airemin did not allow Wonwoo to dress up, “Lest you feel yourself apart of that world.” It worked. Wearing simple street clothes amid the pageanty made him feel even more the outsider - and the apprentice armband made it worse. Perhaps this was the reason Airemin allowed him to attend - to make crystal clear the distinction between who he had been, and who he was now.

 

“So what’s it like?” asked cousin Amanda. “Gleaning and stuff. Is it, like, gross?”

 

“We’re not allowed to talk about it.” Wonwoo told her. Which was not true, but Wonwoo had no  interest in discussing gleaning like school gossip.

 

Wonwoo couldn’t stand it, so he started to head for the door. But mother and father showed up at the door.

 

Jungkook wasn’t there - “He has a date with a nice alpha named Kim Taehyung.” Mother supplied - Mother asked standard questions. How was he doing, was he eating, and the like.

 

“I understand there’s an alpha living with you?” said mother after a while.

 

“He has his own room, and he’s not even interested in me one bit.” Wonwoo snapped back (not meaning to, immediately apologizing) he was oddly disappointed in himself.

 

He dodged all other questions about Mingyu, mother was dead set on them being a couple. At one of his fake yawns, mother told him to go home. So he did.

 

“You’re back early,” Scythe Airemin commented when he returned. And although he feigned surprise, he had set a place for the omega at the table.    


	5. From the gleaning journal of H.S. Scarame

> Scythes are supposed to have a keen appreciation of death, yet there are some things that are beyond even our comprehension. 
> 
>  
> 
> The woman I gleaned today asked me the oddest question.
> 
>  
> 
> “Where do I go now?” She asked
> 
>  
> 
> “Well,” I explained calmly, “Your memories and life recording are already stored in the Thunderhead,  so it won't be lost. Your body is returned to the earth in the manner determined by your next of kin.”
> 
>  
> 
> “Yes, I know all that,” she said. “But what about me?”
> 
>  
> 
> The question perplexed me. “As I said, your memory construct will exist in the Thunderhead. Loved ones will be able to talk to it, and your contract will respond.”
> 
>  
> 
> “Yes,” she said, getting a but agitated, “But what about  _ me _ ?”
> 
>  
> 
> I gleaned her then. Only after she was gone did I say, “I don't know.
> 
> _\- FROM THE GLEANING JOURNAL OF H.S. Scarame_


	6. A matter of choice

Scythe

bueller

  
  
  


“I will glean alone today,” Scythe Airemin told Mingyu and Wonwoo one day in February, the second month of their apprenticeship. “While I am gone I have a task for each of you,” He took Wonwoo to the weapons den. “You, Wonwoo, shall polish each of my blades.”

 

The omega had been in the weapons den for the normal everyday lessons, but being in there alone, all by himself with nothing but his own thoughts, that scared him.

 

The scythe went to the blade wall, which held everything from swords to switch blades. “Some are merely dusty, others tarnished. You shall decide what type of care each one needs.”

 

He watched the way the alpha’s eyes moved from one weapon to another, lingering long enough, perhaps, to recall a memory.

 

“You’ve used them all?” asked the omega.

 

“Only about half of them - and even then, for only one gleaning.” He reached up and pulled a rapier from the fourth wall - the one with the older looking weapons. This one looked like the kinds one of the Three Musketeers might have used. “When I was young, I had much more of a flair for drama. I went to glean a man who fancied himself a fencer. So I challenged him to a duel.”

 

“And you won?”

 

“No, I lost. Twice. He skewered me through the neck the first time and tore open my femoral artery the second - he was very good. Each time, after I woke up in the revival center, I returned to challenge him. His wins bought him more time - but he was chosen to be gleaned, and I would not relent. Some scythes will change their minds, but that leads to compromise, and it favours the persuasive. I made my decisions firm.”   
  


“In the fourth bout, I pierced his heart with the tip of my blade. As he breathed his last, he thanked me for allowing him to die fighting. It was the only time in all my years of a scythe, that I had been thanked for what I do.”

 

He sighed, and put the rapier back in what Wonwoo realized was a place of honour. 

 

“If you have all these weapons, why did you take mother’s knife that day you can to glean my neighbor?” Wonwoo had to ask.

 

The scythe grinned. “To gauge your reaction.”

 

“I threw it away,” he told the alpha.

 

“I suspected as much,” he said. “But these you will polish.” Then the alpha left the omega there.

 

When he was gone, Wonwoo studied the weapons. He was not particularly morbid, but he found himself wanting to know which blades had been used, and how. It seemed to him that a noble weapon deserved to have its story passed down, and if not to him and Mingyu, then to whom?

 

He pulled scimitar from the wall. A heavy beast that could decapitate you with a single swing. Had Scythe Airemin used it for a beheading? It was, in a way, the scythe’s style: swift, painless, efficient. As the omega moved it clumsily through the air, he wondered if he had the strength to behead someone.

 

‘ _ My god, what am I becoming? _ ’

 

He put the weapon on the table, grabbed the rag, and rubbed polish on it, when he finished he went to the next and the next. Trying not to see himself in the shiny, new looking blades.

 

* * *

  
  


Mingyu’s task was not as visceral, but even more troubling.

 

“Today, you shall lay the groundwork for my next gleaning.” Scythe Airemin told the younger alpha, then gave the young alpha a list of parameters that tomorrow’s subject would have. “All the information you need is in the Thunderhead, if you’re clever enough to find it.” Then he left for today’s gleaning.

 

Mingyu almost made the mistake of giving the list of parameters to the Thunderhead and asking it for a subject - until he remembered that asking the Thunderhead for assistance was strictly forbidden for scythes. They had full access to great cloud’s wealth of information, but could not access its algorithmic “conscious” mind. Scythe Airemin had told them of a scythe who tried to do so. The Thunderhead itself reported him to the High Blade, and he was “severely disciplined”.

 

“How is a scythe disciplined?” Mingyu had to ask.

 

“He was put to death twelvefold by a jury of scythes, then revived each time. After the twelfth revival, he was on probation for a year.”

 

Mingyu imagined a jury of scythes would be very creative in their methods of punishment. He suspected that dying twelve times at the hands of scythes would be a lot worse than splatting.

 

He began to enter search parameters. He was instructed to have his search include not just their city, but all of MidMerica -  which stretched nearly a thousand miles across the middle of the continent. Then he narrowed the search to towns with populations under ten thousand that were also on the banks of rivers. Then to homes or apartments that were within one hundred feet of the river band. Then he searched for people twenty and older who lived in those residences.

 

That gave him more than forty thousand people.

 

He had done that in five minutes. The next few requirements were not going to be as easy to nail down.

 

_ The subject must be a strong swimmer. _

 

He got a list of every high school and university in each river town, and cross-referenced everyone who had registered for a triathlon. About eight hundred people.

 

_ The subject must be a dog lover. _

 

Using Scythe Airemin’s access codem he found subscription lists of ever publication and and blog dealing with dogs. He accessed pet store databases to get a list of anyone who made regular purchases of dog food over the past few years. That brought the number down to one hundred twelve names.

 

_ The subject must have a history of heroism in a nonprofessional capacity.  _

 

He painstakingly searched for words like “hero”, “bravery”, and “rescue”, for all one hundred twelve names. He thought he’d be lucky if a single one came up - but to his surprise, four of them were noted as having done something heroic at some point in their lives.

 

He clicked on each name and brought up four pictures. He immediately regretted it, because the moment those names had faces, they became people instead of parameters.

 

A man with a round face and a winning smile.

 

A woman who could have been anyone’s mother.

 

A guy with a bad case of bed-hair.

 

A man who looked like he hadn’t shaved in three days.

 

Four  _ people _ . And Mingyu was about to decide which one would die tomorrow.

 

He immediately found himself leaning toward the unshaven man, but realised he was showing a bias. A person shouldn’t be discriminated against because he hadn’t shaved for a picture. And was he ruling out the woman because she was a female omega?

 

Okay then, the guy with the smile. But was Mingyu overcompensating now by choosing the most pleasant looking of them?

 

He decided to learn more about each of them, using Airemin’s access code to dig up more personal information than he really should have been allowed to; but this was a person’s life he was dealing with - shouldn’t he use any means necessary to make his decision fair?

 

This one had run into a burning building in his youth to save a family member. But this one has three young kids. But this one volunteers at an animal shelter. But this one’s brother was just gleaned two years ago…

 

He thought each fact would help him, but the more he came to know about each of them, the harder the decision became. He kept digging into their lives, getting more and more desperate, until the front door opened and Scythe Airemin returned. It was dark out. When had night fallen?

 

The scythe looked weary, and his robes were splattered with blood. “Today’s gleaning was… more troublesome than expected,” he explained. Wonwoo came out of the weapons den. “All blades are now polished to a perfect shine!” the omega said.

 

Airemin gave his nod of approval. Then he turned to Mingyu, who still sat at the computer. “And who do we glean next?”

 

“I...uh...narrowed it down to four.”

 

“And?”

 

“All four fit the profile.”

 

“And?”

 

“Well this one just got married, and this one just bought a house -”

 

“Pick one.” Said the scythe.

 

“- and this one received a humanitarian award last year -”

 

“ **PICK ONE!** ” yelled the scythe, using alpha voice with such ferocity, neither of which Mingyu had heard from the man. The very walls seemed to recoil from his voice. Mingyu thought he might get a reprieve, like when Airemin asked him to hand that woman the cyanide pill. But no; today’s test was very different. Mingyu looked to Wonwoo, who was under a trance from the alpha voice, as all omegas were, but he couldn’t do anything, it wasn’t directed at the omega, so until Mingyu picked he wouldn’t move. Mingyu was truly alone in this awful decision. 

 

Mingyu looked to the screen, grimacing, and pointed to the man with bed-hair. “Him,” Mingyu said. “Glean him.”

 

Mingyu closed his eyes. He had just condemned a man to death because he’d had a bad hair day.

 

Then he felt Scythe Airemin put a firm hand on his shoulder. He thought he’d get a reprimand, but instead, the scythe said, “Well done.”

 

Mingyu opened his eyes. “Thank you, sir.”

 

“Were this not he hardest thing you’ve ever done, I’d be conserned.”

 

“Does it ever get easier?”

 

“I certainly hope not.”

 

* * *

  
  
  


The following afternoon, Bradford Ziller returned from work to find a scythe sitting in his living room. The scythe stood as Bradford entered. His instincts told him to turn and run, but before he did, an alpha teenage boy with a green armband, which had been standing off to the side, closed the door behind him.

 

He waited with increasing dread for the scythe to speak, but instead the scythe gestured to the boy, who cleared his throat and said, “Mr. Ziller you have been chosen for gleaning.”

 

“Tell him the rest, Mingyu.” Said the scythe patiently.

 

“I mean to say that… that _ I _ chose you for gleaning.”

 

Bradford looked between the two of them, suddenly relieved, this had to be some sort of joke. “Okay, who the hell are you? Who put you up to this?”

 

Then the scythe held up his hand, showing his ring. And Bradford’s spirits fell again like a second drop of a rollar coaster. That was no fake -it was the real thing. “This boy is one of my apprintices.” said the scythe.

 

“I’m sorry,” said the boy. “It’s not personal - you just fit a certain profile. Back in the Age of Mortality lots of people died trying to perform rescues. A lot of them were people who jumped into flooded rivers to save their pets. Most of them were good swimmers, but that doesn’t matter in a flood.” 

 

‘ _ The dogs _ !’ Thought Bradford. ‘ _ That’s right the dogs! _ ’ “You can’t hurt me!” he said. “You do, and my dogs’ll rip you to pieces.” But where were they?

 

Then a male omega came out of his bedroom, wearing the same armband as the younger alpha. “I sedated all three,” he said. “They’ll be fine, but they won’t be bothering anyone.” There was blood on the omega’s arm. Not the dog’s but his own. They had bitten the omega, good for them.

 

“It’s not personal,” the young male alpha said again. “I’m sorry.”

 

“One apology is enough,” the scythe said. “Especially when it’s genuine.”

 

Bradford guaffed, even though he knew this was real. He just somehow found this funny. His knees grew weak, he settled onto the sofa and his laughter resolved into misery. How was this fair? How was any of this fair?

 

But then the young alpha knelt down before him, and when Bradford looked up, he was caught by the boys gaze. It was as if he were looking into the eyes of a much older soul.

 

“Listen to me, Mr. Zillar.” the young alpha began. “I know you saved your sister from a fire when you were my age. I know how hard you struggled to save your marriage. And I know you think that your daughter doesn’t love you, but she does.”

 

Bradford stared at him, incredulous. “How do you know all this?”

 

“It’s our job to know. Your gleaning won’t change any of that. You lived a good life. Scythe Airemin is here to complete it for you.”

 

Bradford begged to make a phone call, pleaded for just one more day, but of course, those things were not granted. They said he could write a note, but he couldn’t write anything.

 

“I know how that feels,” the young alpha told him.

 

“How will you do it?” he finally asked them.

The scythe responded. “I have chosen for you a traditional drowning. We shall take you to the river. I shall submerge you until your life leaves you.”

 

Bradford clenched his eyes. “I’ve heard that drowning is a bad way to go.”

 

“Can I give him some of the stuff I gave the dogs?” the omega asked. “Knock him out so that he’ll already be unconsious?”

 

The scythe considered it and nodded. “If you choose, we can spare you the suffering.”

 

But Bradford shook his head, realizing he wanted every second he had left. “No, I wanted every second he had left. “No, I want to be awake.” If drowning was to be his last experiance, then let him experiance it. He could feel his heart beating faster, his body trembling with the surge of adrenaline. He was afraid, but fear meant he was still alive.

 

“Come then,” the scythe told him gently. “We’ll all go down to the river together.”

 

* * *

  
  
  
  


Wonwoo was awed by how Mingyu handled himself. Although he began a little shaky when he first spoke to the man, soon after the alpha took charge. He took the reigns of that man’s fear and gave him peace. Wonwoo only hoped that when it came to his turn to make a choice, he would keep his composure as well as Mingyu had. All he had done today was tranquilize some dogs. Sure he got bit in the process, but it was nothing, really. He tried to convince Airemin to take the dogs to a shelter, but the old alpha wouldn’t have it. He did allow the omega to call for the shelter to come for the dogs. And the coroner came for the man. The scythe offered to take the omega to the hospital for some speedhealing of the dog bite, but he declined. His own nanites would heal it by morning, and besides, there was something compelling about the discomfort. He owed it to the dead man to hurt a little for him.

 

“That was impressive,” he told Mingyu on the long ride home.

 

“Yeah, right until I puked on the riverbank.”

 

“But that was only after he was gleaned,” Wonwoo pointed out. “You gave that man the strength to face death.”

 

Mingyu shrugged, turning away. “I guess.”

 

Wonwoo found it both maddening and endearing how modest he could be.

 

That night, when Wonwoo felt Mingyu began to shake their bed with sobs, he turned and held tight onto the alpha. Whispering soft words and purring for him. 

 

The next morning neither of them would mention it, but purring only happens when an omega choose a mate. And if Mingyu began to collect food, blankets, and water in his room, well that was his business.


	7. From the gleaning journal of H.S. Scarame

* * *

> There's a poem be Honourable Scythe Socrates - one of the first scythes. He wrote many poems, but this one has grown to be my personal favourite. 
> 
>   
>    
> 
> 
> Have not a hand in the blade with abandon,
> 
> Cull from the fold all the brazen and bold,
> 
> For a dog who just might, 
> 
> Love the bark and bite,
> 
> Is a carrion raven, the craven of old.
> 
>   
>    
> 
> 
> It reminds me that in spite of out lofty ideals and the many safeguards to protect the Scythedom from corruption and depravity, we must always be vigilant, because power comes infected with only disease to us: the virus called human nature. I fear for us all if scythes begin to love what they do.
> 
>  
> 
> _ \- FROM THE GLEANING JOURNAL OF H.S. Scarame _
> 
> * * *
> 
>  


	8. Chan

Scythe

bueller

  
  


Chan ate far to much pizza. His mother told him pizza would be the death of him. He never imagined it might actually be true.

 

The scythe attack came less than a minute after he was given his slice, piping hot from the oven. It was the end of his school day, and the daily trials of fourth grade had exhausted him. Lunch had sucked. The tuna salad his mother had given him before school had warmed and was mildly fermented by the time lunch rolled around. Not exactly appetizing. In fact, none of the food his mother had given him had hit high on the flavour scale. She was trying to get Chan to eat healthier, because as a small child Chan had a weight problem (It wasn’t too bad, baby fat mostly, but mother was adamant) And although his nanites could be programed to speed up his metabolism, his mother wouldn’t hear of it. She claimed it would be treating the symptom, not the problem.

 

“You can’t solve everything by tweaking your naites,” his mother told him. “You need to learn self-control.”

 

Well, he could learn self-control tomorrow. Today he wanted pizza.

 

His favourite pizza place, Luigi’s, was in the food court of Fulcrum City Galleria - which was on his way home from school. Sort of. He was negotiating the cheese, trying to figure out how to take that first bite without burning the roof of his mouth, when the scythes arrived. His back was to them, so he didn’t see them at first. But he heard them - or at least one of them.

 

“Good afternoon, good people,” he said. “Your lives are about to change in a fundamental way.”

 

Chan turned to see them. Four of them. They were clad in bright robes that glittered. They looked like no one Chan had ever seen. He had never met a scythe. He was fascinated. Until three of them pulled out weapons that glistened even more that their bejeweled robes, and the fourth pulled out a flamethrower.

 

“This food court has been selected for gleaning,” their leader said. And they began their terrible mission.

 

Chan knew what he had to do. Forgetting his pizza, he dropped beneath the table and crawled away. But he wasn’t the only one with that idea, all over there were people on the floor. It didn’t seem to faze the scythes. He could see their feet through the crawling of the crowd. The fact that their victims were on all four did not slow them down the least.

 

Now Chan began to panic. He had heard stories of scythes who did mass gleanings, but until now he had thought them nothing but stories.

 

Before him he could see the scythe in yellow robes, so he doubled back, only to find the scythe in green robes closing in. He crawled under some large pots that had been knocked over in the ruckus. He saw the man who had served him pizza was slumped over the counter dead. Chan was sliding in blood. There was a gap between a trash can and the wall. It was not much of a hiding place, but if he left it, he would be right in the line of fire. He had already seen two people trying to dart across the walkway and both were taken down by steel crossbow bolts. He didn’t dare move. So instead, he buried his face in his hand. He stayed that way sobbing, listening to the terrible sounds around him, until silence fell. Still he refused to open his eyes until he heard a man say, “Why hello there.”

 

Chan opened his eyes to see the lead scythe - the one in blue - standing over him.

 

“Please…” Chan begged, “please, don’t glean me.”

 

The man held out his hand to Chan. “The gleaning is over. There is no one left but you. Now, take my hand.”

 

Afraid to refuse, Chan reached out and placed his hand in the man’s, and rose from his hiding place.

 

“I’ve been looking for you, Chan.” He said.

 

Chan gasped when he heard the man say his name. Why would a scythe be looking for him?

 

“You’ll be coming with us now.” the scythe in blue said.

 

“But… my mother.”

 

“Your mother knows and I’ve granted her immunity.”

 

“Really??”   
  


“Yes, really”

 

Then the girl scythe, in emerald green, handed Chan a plate. “I believe this was your pizza.”

 

Chan took it. It was cool enough to eat now. “Thank you.”

 

“Come with us,” said the scythe in blue, “and I promise you from this moment on, your life will be everything you’ve ever dreamed it could be.”

 

And so Chan left with the four scythes, thankful to be alive, and trying not to think of the many around him who weren't. This certainly wasn’t the way he imagined his day would go - but who was he to fight against something that rang so clearly of destiny?


	9. From the gleaning journal of H.S. Scarame

* * *

* * *

* * *

> Was there ever a time when people weren't plagued with boredom? A time when motivation wasn't so hard to come by? When I look at news archives from the Age of Mortality, it seems people had more reasons to do the things they did. Life was about forging time, not just passing time.
> 
>  
> 
> And those news reports - How exciting they were. Filled with all nature of criminal activity. Your neighbor could be a salesperson of illegal chemicals of of recreation. Ordinary people would take life without permission of society. Angry individuals would take possession of vehicles they didn't own, then lead law enforcement officers in dangerous pursuits on uncontrolled roadways.
> 
>  
> 
> We do have the unsavories nowadays, but they do little more than drop occasional pieces of litter and move shop items to places they don't belong. No one rages against the system anymore. At most, they just glare at it a bit.
> 
>  
> 
> Perhaps this is why the Thunderhead still allows a measured amount of economic inequality. It could certainly make sure that everyone had equal wealth - But that would just add to the plague of boredom that afflicts the immortal. Although we all have what we need, we're still allowed to strive  for the things we want. Of course, no one strives like they did in mortal days, when the inequality was so great people would actually steal from one another - sometimes ending lived in the process. 
> 
>  
> 
> I wouldn't want the return of crime, but I do tire of we scythes being the sole purveyors of fear. It would be nice to have competition.
> 
>  
> 
>  _- FROM THE GLEANING JOURNAL OF H.S. Scarame_
> 
> * * *
> 
> * * *
> 
> * * *
> 
>  


	10. Forbidden Responses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm doing the second book.

 

Scythe

bueller

 

“Dude, I’m telling you, it’s all anyone can talk about. Everyone thinks you’re becoming a scythe to take revenge on the school!”

 

On a mild day in March - on one of the rare afternoons that Scythe Airemin allowed Mingyu downtime - Mingyu had gone to visit his friend Soonyoung, who had not splatted once in the three months since his child was born. Now they shot hoops at a park just a few blocks away from Soonyoung’s new home with his omega.

 

Mingyu threw Soonyoung the ball. “That’s not why I accepted the apprenticeship.”

 

“I know that, and you know that, but people will believe whatever they want to believe.” He grinned. “Suddenly I got all sorts of game because I’m your friend. They think I can get them access to your ring. But I don’t care, life is going as great as ever with Jihoon, he and baby Ailee are my life.” 

 

“God you are so whipped.” Mingyu said stealing the ball. He took the shot. He hadn’t played since before moving in with the scythe, but he found his arm, if not his aim. He was stronger than ever - and had endless stamina, all thanks to his Bokator training. 

 

“HEY!” Some guy yelled, and Mingyu turned around to see three alphas the same age as him. “Wanna do a pickup?” But the alpha leader trailed off seeing Mingyu’s armband. “On second thought never mind.”

 

“No, we can all play.” Mingyu sighed.

 

“Nahhh… we’ll go somewhere else.”

 

“I said you could play.” Mingyu insisted - and he saw such fear in the other kid’s eyes, he felt ashamed for pushing.

 

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” He turned to his friends. “You heard the alpha! Play!”

 

They took the court in earnest, and in earnest played to lose, just as Soonyoung had. Was this how it would always be? Was he now such an intimidating presence that even his own friends would be afraid to truly challenge him? The only one that ever truly challenged him anymore was Wonwoo.

 

Mingyu lost interest in the game and left with Soonyoung, who found it all amusing. “Dude you’re not lettuce anymore, you’re deadly nightshade! You’re the mean greens now!”   
  


Soonyoung was right. If Mingyu had told those three alphas to get on all fours and lick the ground they would have. It was horrible, terrifying, and he didn’t want to think about it.”

 

Mingyu didn’t know what possessed him to do what he did next. Frustration at his isolation maybe - Or maybe just wanting to bring a sliver of his old life into his new one.

 

“Wanna come over and see the scythe’s place?”

 

Soonyoung looked back to where his home was, and Mingyu understood, if Wonwoo had just given birth he would have wanted to leave either. 

 

Mingyu sighed, “Hey, I get it, please go home to your mate and always treat them good.”

 

Soonyoung laughed and said, “It almost sounds like you’re saying goodbye forever.”

 

Mingyu let out a nod, unable to reach Tiger's eyes. He didn’t want this, but it was a necessary evil.

 

Soonyoung nodded sadly and turned and walked away. Mingyu’s heart felt heavy, and as he walked back towards home, he was softly sobbing. He didn’t care what others thought about him He didn’t care that alpha’s weren’t supposed to cry. He just wanted to get home, and snuggle his omega.

 

Mingyu stopped, and retraced his thoughts…  _ his  _ omega? He reached up and tried to slap himself into thought. There was no way he like Jeon Wonwoo… no. He refused.

 

He ran home and slammed open the door, Wonwoo was out, so he got into the shower and tried to breathe. He needed to relax. He slowly reached down to his loins, he wouldn’t get caught, Wonwoo was out and Scythe Airemin wasn’t expected home for two days. And yet he still was wary, until he began to think of Wonwoo. Wonwoo smiling. Wonwoo laughing with powder on his nose. Wonwoo underneath him, moaning unashamed...Mingyu was close. It was burning inside him. He came, and at the base of his cock, there was a large knot.

 

He came down from the high and realised, he'd just come to the thought of his omegan best friend - a best friend who was very much not attracted to Kim Mingyu

 

* * *

  
  
  


After being an apprentice for nearly three months, Wonwoo couldn't deny that he wanted to be chosen by Scythe Airemin to receive the ring. As much as he resisted, as much as he told himself this was not the life for him, he had come to see its importance, and how good a scythe he would be. He had always wanted to live a life of substance and to make a difference. As a scythe, he would. Not only that but for other male omegas he would be setting an example, such as his childhood hero Honourable Scythe Scarame. Yes, he would have blood on his hands, but blood can be a cleansing thing.

 

It was certainly treated as such I  Bokator.

 

Wonwoo found Black Widow Bokator to be the most physically demanding thing he had ever done. Their trainer was Scythe Yingxing, who used no weapons but his own hands and feet to glean. He had taken a vow of silence. It seemed every scythe had surrendered something of themselves - not because they had to but because they had chosen to - as a way to pay for the lives they took. 

 

“What would  _ you _ give up?” Mingyu once asked Wonwoo. The question making the omega uncomfortable. 

 

“If I become a scythe, I'm giving up my life, aren't I? I think that's enough.”

 

“You're also giving up family…” Mingyu said, most omegas need families. Is a fact, it's what they evolved for.

 

He nodded, not wanting to speak of it. The idea of having a family was so far off to him, the idea of  _ not _ having one felt equally distant. It was hard to have feelings about something he was years away from even considering. Besides, such things had to be kept far from his mind during Bokator. One’s mind had to be clear. 

 

Wonwoo had never taken any sort of martial art before. He had always been a non-contact kind of person. Track, swimming, tennis - or really anything where you didn't have to move. Bokator was the antithesis of that. Hand-to-hand, body-to-body combat. Even communication was entirely physical in the class, as their mute instructor would correct  their positions as if they were action figures. It was all mind and body, without the brash mediation of words. 

 

There were eight in their class, and although their instructor was a scythe, Wonwoo and Mingyu were the only apprentices. The others were junior scythes, in the first years of their scythehood. There was another omega - female - who made no overtones of friendship to Wonwoo. The omegas were given no special treatment, and were expected to be up there with the alphas. 

 

Sparring was punishing in Bokator. Each match began simply enough, with a ritualistic strutting around the circle, the two combatants physically taunting each other in a sort of aggressive dance. Then things got serious, and brutal. All nature of kicks and punches and body slams.

 

Today Wonwoo was against Mingyu. Mingyu had more finesse to his moves, but Wonwoo had speed. Mingyu was stronger, but he was also  _ very _ tall which didn't help in an actual fight, but in intimidation it helped. Wonwoo’s lower center if gravity made him more stable. All taken into account, they were evenly matched.

 

Wonwoo spun and gave Mingyu a powerful kick to the chest that almost took him down. 

 

“Good one,” Mingyu said. Scythe Yingxang zipped hid own lip to remind them there was no cross talk during combat.

 

He came at Mingyu from the left, and he countered quickly, so quickly infact the omega has no idea where it comes from. It was as if Mingyu had three hands. Wonwoo was thrown off-balance, but only for an instant. The omega felt heat where the alpha’s hand had connected with his side. ‘ _ There’ll be a bruise _ .’ He grinned. ‘ _ He'll pay for that! _ ’

 

He feinted left again, then came at full force from the right. The omega took the alpha down and had him pinned - but it was as if gravity reversed, and suddenly he realised the tables had been turned. He was on top, pinning the omega down. He could have flipped him again - he had the leverage - but he didn't do it. He could feel the alpha's heartbeat now as if it were beating in his own chest… And he realised he wanted to feel that a bit longer. He wanted to feel it more than he wanted to win the match. 

 

That made him angry. Angry enough to hit Mingyu off. 

  
Scythe Yingxang singled the end of the match. Wonwoo and Mingyu bowed to each other, then took their places on opposite sides of the circle as two others were called to spar. Wonwoo watched determinedly, with the intent not to give Mingyu a single glance.


	11. From the gleaning journal of H.S. Scarame

> * * *
> 
> * * *
> 
> We are not the same beings we once were.
> 
>  
> 
> Consider our inability to grasp literature and most entertainment from the mortal age. To us, the things that stirred mortal human emotions are incomprehensible. Only stories of love pass through out post-mortal filter, yet even then, we are baffled by the intensity of longing and loss that threatens those mortal tales of love.
> 
>  
> 
> We could blame it on our emo-nanites limiting our despair, but it runs far deeper than that. Mortals fantasized that love was eternal and it's loss unimaginable. Now we know that neither is true. Love remained mortal, while we became eternal. Only scythes can equalize that, but everyone knows the chance of being gleaned in this, or even the next, millennium is so low as to be ignored.
> 
>  
> 
> We are not the same beings we once were. 
> 
>  
> 
> So then, if we are no longer human, what are we?
> 
>  
> 
> * * *
> 
> * * *
> 
> * * *
> 
> -  _FROM THE GLEANING JOURNAL OF H.S. Scarame_


	12. Indiscretions

Scythe

bueller

 

Wonwoo and Mingyu were not always together at gleanings. Sometimes Scythe Airemin took just one of them. The worst gleaning Wonwoo witnessed took place in early May, just a week before Vernal Conclave - the first of three conclaves he and Mingyu would attend during their apprenticeship.

 

Their quarry was a man who had just turned a corner and reset his age down to twenty-four. He was at home having dinner with his wife and two kids, who seemed around Wonwoo's age. When Scythe Airemin announced who they had come for, the family wept, and the man slipped off into a bedroom.

 

Scythe Airemin had chosen a peaceful bloodletting for the man, but that was not what happened. When Wonwoo and the scythe entered the room, he ambushed them. The man was in peak condition, and in the arrogance of his new rejuvenation, he rejected his gleaning and fought the scythe, breaking his jaw with a vicious punch. Wonwoo came to the alpha's aid, trying some Bokator moved he had learned from Scythe Airemin - and quickly learned that applying a martial art is much different from practice in a dojo. The man swatted him away, and realising Wonwoo was a male omega and his greed became to much.

 

He climbed on top of the omega, straddling him and putting his hands on both wrists. He tried to get out from the trap. But he couldn’t, he looked at Scythe Airemin for help, but he was out cold.

 

Wonwoo began to cry as the man reached down Wonwoo's pants and when he began to struggle even more - the alpha commanded him, “ **Stop moving, don't say a word** .”

 

And Wonwoo’s body did that. Even as inside he screamed for help. The man was about to take him, but the scythe had woken up, and stabbed the man. Even still Wonwoo couldn't move, that was the alpha's command.

 

“Wonwoo.” The alpha helped him sit up, but he still couldn't move. “ **Wonwoo. It's not right for me to do this, and a scythe can't alpha command. So I'm only to break that rule once - you are to only listen to Kim Mingyu’s alpha voice.** ” 

 

Wonwoo gasped and looked at the alpha. “Why? I would rather be a potato then have to listen to him!” 

 

“The command could only be broken if you were to only listen to an alpha!” 

 

Then Scythe Airemin left the room and Wonwoo observed the man's last moments. Wonwoo knew what he was going to do. The law was very clear as to the consequences of running from or resisting one's gleaning. So he wasn't shocked when the pleas from the woman begging for the lives of her children, and the children sobbing in despair.

 

He watched the man slowly die. Then he went to join Scythe Airemin, steeling herself for what was to come.

 

The two children were on the sofa, their sobs having degraded into tearful whimpers. The woman was on her knees whispering to them, comforting them. 

 

“Are you quite done?” The Scythe said impatiently. 

 

At last the woman rose. Her eyes tearful, but they no longer seemed pleading. “Do what you have to do.” She said.

 

“Good,” said the scythe. “I applaud your fortitude. Now, as it happens, your husband did not resist his gleaning.” Then he touched his swelling face. “However, my apprentice and I has an altercation, resulting in these wounds.”

 

The woman just stared at him, her haw slightly unhinged. So was Wonwoo's. The Scythe turned to Wonwoo and glared at him. “My apprentice shall be severely punished for fighting with me.” Then he turned back to the woman. “Please kneel.”

 

The woman fell to her knees, not to much as kneel as a collapse. 

 

Scythe Airemin held out his ring to her. “As is customary, you and your children are granted a year of immunity. Each of you please kiss my ring.”

 

The woman kissed it again, and again, and again.

 

* * *

  
  
  


The scythe said little after they left. They rode a bus, because whenever possible a scythe avoided a publicar. 

 

When they got off at their stop. Wonwoo dared to speak.

 

“Shall I be disciplined for breaking your jaw?” As an omega who just went through trauma, he was very afraid of punishment. And his body felt weird. 

 

“You will not speak of this to anyone. You won't even comment on it in your journal do you hear? That man's… ugliness shall never be know. Not for him, but for those innocents involved.”

 

“Yes your Honour.” 

 

* * *

  
  


Wonwoo, try as he might go be a stellar apprentice, was not immune to indiscretion himself. One of Wonwoo’s nightly chores was to bring Scythe Airemin a glass of warm milk before bed. “As in my childhood, warm milk smooths the edges of the day. I have, however, dispensed with the cookie that once came with it.”

 

The thought of a scythe having milk and cookies before bed was absurd to Wonwoo. But he assumed even an agent of death would have guilty pleasures.

 

Quite often, when a gleaning had been difficult, he would fall asleep before she came into his room at the appointed time with milk. In those cases, he would drink it with Mingyu. 

 

On the night of that awful gleaning, he lingered in his room a bit longer.

 

“Scythe Airemin,” he said gently. Then said it again. No response. He could tell by his breathing he was out.

 

There was an object on the nightstand. In fact, it was there every night. 

 

His ring.

 

It caught the light from the hallway. 

 

He downed the milk (after he'd gotten home his cravings went wild) and set it on the nightstand so the scythe would see he hadn't wasted it. 

 

He didn't touch it, just looked. 

 

“Would you like to try it on?” Scythe Airemin asked.

 

“No,” she said. “I'm sorry.”

 

He wondered if he'd been awake the whole time. “Go ahead, try it on. I insist.”

 

“No thank you.” He said, getting up and running from the room to his and Mingyu's.

 

“Wonu, are you ok?” Mingyu asked. 

 

He nodded and closed the door. And jumped into the bed, pulling the covers off of Mingyu who let out a complaint. He tried to pull them off, but the omega burritoed himself in the blankets.

 

“Share!”

 

“No!”

 

“ **WONWOO** !”

 

“MINGYU!” Wonwoo moaned, something had triggered some thing in Wonwoo, maybe it was the huskiness of Mingyu's voice, but Wonwoo felt his heat began.

 

Mingyu stared in shock. And he felt his alpha respond to it's omega going into a heat, triggering a rut.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


The next day, Wonwoo crawled from bed and got a shower, washing away any evidence of what happened. But he couldn't wash away a mating bite.

 

He got a large sweater. And went to get breakfast. Scythe Airemin walked in, and Wonwoo's heart exploded. He was worried they'd gotten caught.

 

“From now on, Mingyu will bring me my milk.”

 

“Sorry to let you down,” Wonwoo said, letting out a breath of relief.

  
“Wonwoo you haven't let me down. You've instead done very well. It was a test, now, let's see if Mingyu can do as well.”


	13. From the gleaning journal of H.S. Scarame

> * * *
> 
> * * *
> 
> * * *
> 
> Sometimes when the weight of my job becomes overwhelming, I begin to lament all the things lost when we conquered death. I think about religion and how, once we became our own saviors, our own gods, most faiths became irrelevant. What must it have been like to believe in something greater then one's self? To accept imperfections and look to a rising vision of all we could never be? It must have lifted people from the mundane, but also justified all sorts of evil. I often wonder if the bright benefit of belief outweighed the darkness it's abuse could bring.
> 
>  
> 
> There are the tone cults, of course, dressing in sack-cloth and worshiping sonic vibrations - But like so many things in our world, they seek to imitate what once was. Their rituals are not to be taken seriously. They exist merely to make the passing time feel meaningful and profound.
> 
>  
> 
> Lately I've been preoccupied with a tone cult in my neighborhood. I went into their gathering place the other day. I was there to glean one of the cult’s congregates - a man who had not yet turned his first corner. They were intoning what they call “the resonant frequency of the universe.” One of them told me that the sound is alive and harmonizing with it brings inner peace. I wonder, when they look at the great tuning fork that stands as the symbol of their faith, if they truly believe it to be a symbol of power or are they just joining in on a communal joke? Much like scythes and our beliefs?
> 
>  
> 
>  _- FROM THE GLEANING JOURNAL OF H.S. Scarame_

 

* * *

* * *

* * *

 


	14. No room for mediocrity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanna say I'm sorry for 1 not replying to your comments and say I have a good reason 2 sorry my updates are slow... I found out I have cancer and I've been dealing with that and I'm just sick and I'm tired, but fighting. I'll get done with this very soon don't worry

Scythe

bueller

 

“The Scythedom is the world’s only self-governing body,” said Scythe Airemin. “While the rest of the world is under Thunderhead rule, the Scythedom is not. Which us why we hold conclaves three times a year to resolve disputes, review policy, and mourn the lives we've taken.”

 

Vernal Conclave, which was to take place during the first week of May, was less than a week away. Mingyu and Wonwoo had studied enough of the structure of the Scythedom to know that all twenty-five regions of the world held their conclaves on the same day, and there were currently three hundred twenty-one scythes in their region, which encompassed the heart of the North Merican continent.

 

“The MidMerican Conclave is an important one,” Scythe Airemin told them, “because we tend to set the trend for much of the world. Which is understandable because MidMerica has captured many old time places called countries. Wonwoo which country would we be in if we were in the Age of Mortality?”

 

“Korea. But when conquered by Merican people, they took away all culture when the moved it over to Merica.”

 

Scythe Airemin explained that at each conclave they would be tested. “I do not know the name of the nature of this first test, which is why you need to be prepared in all aspects of your training.”

 

Mingyu had a million questions about conclave, but kept them to himself. He let Wonwoo do all the asking - mainly because the questions irritated Scythe Airemin, and he never answered them.

 

“You'll learn it when you get there.” He had insisted. “What you need to be doing is focusing on studying and training.”

 

Mingyu had never been an exceptional student - but that was by design. To either be too good or too bad drew attention. As much as he hated being the lettuce, it was his comfort zone.

 

“If you apply yourself, I have no doubt you could be at the top of your class,” his science teacher told him after getting the highest grade on his midterm last year. He had done it to see if he could. Now that he knew, he saw no great need to do it again. There are many reasons, not the least of which was his own ignorance about scythes in those days before his apprenticeship. He assumed that being a stellar student would make him a target. Supposedly, a friend of a friend was gleaned at eleven because he was the smartest guy in 5th grade. It was nothing more than an urban myth, but Mingyu believed it was enough if it kept him from wanting to stand out he wondered if other kids held back in fears of being gleaned. 

 

He had little experience with being so studious. He found it exhausting, and there was just more than poison chemistry, post-mortal history, and journaling. There was metallurgy as it applies to weapons, the philosophy of mortality, the psychology of immortality, and the literature of Scythedom, from poetry to the wisdom found in famous scythes’ journals. And of course, the mathematical statistics that Scythe Airemin relied upon so heavily.

 

There was no room for mediocrity, especially with conclave coming up.

 

Mingyu did ask him one question about conclave. “Will we be disqualified if we fail the test?”

 

Airemin took a moment before answering. “No,” he told them, “but there is a consequence.” Although he would not tell them what it was. Mingyu concluded that not knowing was more terrifying than knowing.

 

With just a few days before conclave, he and Wonwoo stayed up late in the weapons den, neither talking about that night. Mingyu found himself dozing, but was quickly awakened when Wonwoo slammed a book.

 

“I hate this.” The omega announced. “Cerberin, aconite, conium, polonium - The poisons are all running together in my head.”

 

“That would sure make a person die faster,” Mingyu said with a smirk.

 

The omega crossed his arms. “Do you know your poisons?”

 

“We're only supposed to know forty by conclave,” Mingyu replied.

 

“And do you know them?”

 

“I will,” he said.

 

“What's the molecular formula for tetrodotoxin?”

 

He wanted to ignore the omega, but found he couldn't back away from the challenge. Perhaps a bit of the omega’s competitive nature was rubbing off on him. “C 11 H 17 N 3 O 6 .”

 

“Wrong it's O 8 ! You fail!”

 

He was trying to rule him up, so that He wouldn't be the only one. Mingyu wasn't going to oblige. “Guess so,” he said, and tried to return to his studies.

 

“Aren't you the least bit worried?” 

 

He took a breath and closed his book. When Scythe Airemin first began teaching them, Mingyu found the use of actual old-school books very off putting, but over time, he'd learned there was something satisfying about turning the pages.

 

“Of course I'm worried, but here's the way I look at it. We know they won't disqualify us, and we already know we can't be gleaned,  and we'll have two more chances to make up for any screw-ups before one of us is chosen. Whatever the consequence of failing the first round test is we'll deal with it.”

 

Wonwoo slumped in his chair. “I don't fail,” he said, but didn't sound to convinced of it. There was a pouty look on his face that made Mingyu smile, but he didn't because he knew that would make the omega mad. 

 

Mingyu put away his toxicology book and pulled out his volume on weapons identification. They were required to be able to identify thirty different weapons, how to wield them, and their detailed history. Mingyu was more worried about that than the poisons. He spared a glance at Wonwoo, who noticed the glance, so he tried not to look again.

 

Then out of nowhere the omega says, “I would miss you.”

 

Mingyu looked up, and the omega looked away. “How do you mean?”

 

“I mean if disqualification was part of the rules, I would miss you.”

 

“But it's not, so no matter what for the next 8 months you're stuck with me.”

 

“I'll be sick of you by then.”

 

It occurred to Mingyu that he might not hate his as much as he thought


	15. From the gleaning journal of H.S. Scarame

> The quota system has worked for over two hundred years, and although is fluctuates region to region, it makes it crystal clear what each scythe's responsibility to the world is. Of course it's all based on averages - we can go days or weeks without gleaning - but we must meet our quota before the next conclave. There are those eager ones who glean early, and find themselves with little to do before conclave. There are those who procrastinate and have to hurry toward the end. Both those approaches lead to sloppiness and unintentional bias.
> 
>  
> 
> I often wonder if the quota will change, and if so, how much. Omegas, like myself, are bred all over and much have so many kids. But the Thunderhead controls population as best it can. But one day there will be to much.
> 
>  
> 
> All things are limited. While the Thunderhead does not interfere with the Scythedom, it does suggest the number of scythes there should be. Currently there are approximately five million people gleaned per year worldwide - a tiny fraction of the death rate in The Age of Mortality, and nowhere near enough to balance population growth. I shudder to think how many more scythes it would take, and how many cleanings would be required, if we were ever need to curb population growth. 
> 
>  
> 
> I know in the first to die will be omegas and children. And I worry for me and my d- 
> 
> -FROM THE GLEANING JOURNAL OF H.S. Scarame


	16. Vernal Conclave

Fulcrum City was a post-mortal metropolis toward the very center of MidMerica. There, by the river, set low between the skyroaring spires of graceful city living, was a venerable structure of stone, impressive if not in height then in solidity. Marble columns and arches supported a great copper dome. It was an unyielding homage to ancient Greece and Imperial Rome, the birthing grounds of civilization. It was called the Capitol Building, for it was once a state capital, back when there were still states - in those days before government became obsolete. Now it had the honour of holding the administrative offices if the MidMerican Scythedom, as well as hosting it's conclave three times a year.

 

 

* * *

  
  


It was pouring rain the day of Vernal Conclave. 

 

Wonwoo rarely minded the rain, but a day of gloomcoipled with a day of pure tension did not sit well with him. But then, a bright sunny day would feel mocking. Wonwoo had a bad morning since the start. Firstly he woke up alone, the shower running, showing him Mingyu had gotten up to get a shower, and secondly his stomach was roaring with the urge to puke. Which he did, out the nearest window - which was in the hallway. A cleaning bot rushed to clean it. 

 

“Nerves?” Scythe Airemin asked from behind. 

 

Wonwoo just nodded. 

 

Fulcrum City was only an hour away by hypertrain, but of course, Scythe Airemin saw hypertrains as an unnecessary extravaganza. “Besides, I want scenery rather than a windowless tunnel. I'm a human not a mole.” Wonwoo was thankful, because at least he didn't have to deal with the fast rocking that would upset his already upset stomach.

 

Fulcrum City was on the Mississippi River. He recalled there was a giant silver arch on the riverbank, but it was gone now. Destroyed back in the Age of Mortality by something called “terrorism”. 

 

They had arrived the evening before conclave, and stayed in a downtown hotel. Morning came much to quickly, and the throwing up happened once again.

 

As Wonwoo, Mingyu, and Scythe Airemin walked from their hotel at the awful hour of 6:30am, people in the street ran to them and handed them umbrellas, choosing to get wet rather than see a scythe and his apprentices go without one.

 

“Do they know you've taken two apprentices instead of one?” Wonwoo asked.

 

“Of course. Why wouldn't they?” Mingyu responded.

 

But Scythe Airemin’s silence on the matter was a clear red flag to Wonwoo. 

 

“You did clear it with the High Blade, didn't you, Scythe Airemin?”

 

“I have found that with the Scythedom, it is better to ask forgiveness than permission,” he told them.

 

Wonwoo gave Mingyu an I-told-you-so look, and the alpha cocked his umbrella slightly so he didn't have to see it.

 

“It will not be a problem,” Airemin said, not sounding very convinced.

 

Wonwoo looked to Mingyu again, who was no longer eclipsed by his umbrella. “Am I the only one worried about that?”

 

Mingyu shrugged. “We have immunity until Winter Conclave, and it can't be revoked - What's the worst they can do?”

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Some scythes arrived at the Capitol Building on foot, as they had; others in publicars, some in private cars, and several in limousines. There were ropes to hold back spectators on either side of the wide marble staircase leading up to the building, as well as peace officers and members of the BladeGuard - the Scythedom’s elite security force. The arriving scythes were protected from them.

 

“I despise this whole ‘show.’” Scythe Airemin said as they walked up the stairs. “Its even worst when it's not raining.”

 

Some of the arriving scythes gave obligatory waves, others played to the crowd, kissing babies and randomly granting immunity. Wonwoo and Mingyu followed Airemin’s lead, which was to ignore the crowd completely. 

 

There were dozens of other scythes in the entry vestibule. They removed their raincoats to reveal robes of all colours, all textures. It was a rainbow that summoned forth anything but thoughts of death. This, Wonwoo realised, was intentional. Scythes wished to be seen as the many facets of light, not darkness.

 

Though a grand arch lay a grander chamber beneath the central dome - a rotunda where hundreds of scythes greeted one another, engaging in casual conversation around an elaborate breakfast spread in the center. Wonwoo wondered what it was that scythes talked about. The tools of gleaning? The weather? The chafing or their robes? It was intimidating enough to be in the presence of a single scythe. To be surrounded by hundreds was enough to make one crumble.

 

Scythe Airemin leaned over and spoke to them in a hundred voice. “See there?” He pointed to a bald, heavily bearded man. Scythe Archimedes - one of the world's oldest living scythes. He'll tell you he was there in the Year of the Condor, when the Scythedom was first formed, but it's a lie. He's not  _ that _ old! And over there…” He pointed to a male with long silver hair in a pale lavender robe. “That's Scythe Scarame.”

 

Wonwoo gasped. He'd always looked up to Scythe Scaremin, hell every male omega did! “The Grande Dame of Death?”

 

“So they say.”

 

“Is it true he gleaned the last President, before the Thunderhead was given control?” Wonwoo asked.

 

“And his cabinet, yes.” He looked at Scythe Scarame  - perhaps a bit wistfully, Wonwoo thought. “His actions were quite controversial back in the day.”

 

The older omega caught them glancing his way and turned to them. Wonwoo chilled when his piercing gray eyes zeroed in on him. Then the omega smiled at the three of them, nodded, and returned to his conversation. 

 

There was a group of four or five scythes closer to the assembly chamber entrance, the doors of which were still closed. They wore bright robes studded with gems. The center of their attention was a scythe in royal blue whose robe contained what appeared to be diamonds. He said something and the others laughed a little too heartily to be anything by sycophantic. 

 

“Who's that?” Wonwoo asked.

 

Scythe Airemin’s expression took a turn toward sour.

 

“That,” he said, not even trying to hide his distaste, “is Scythe Goddard, and his company is best avoided.”

 

“Goddard… isn't he the master of mass gleanings?” Mingyu asked.

 

Airemin looked at him a bit concerned. “Where did you hear that?”

 

Mingyu shrugged. “I have a friend who was obsessed with that kind of stuff, before the baby, he hears things.”

 

Wonwoo gasped, realizing he had heard of Goddard, not by same, just by deed. Or, more accurately, rumor because there was never any official report. But like Mingyu said, you hear things. “Is he the one who gleaned an entire airplane?”

 

“Why?” asked Airemin, giving the omega a cold look. “Does that impress you?”

 

Wonwoo shook his head. “No, the opposite.” But he couldn't help but be a bit dazzled by the way the man's robe caught the light. Everyone was - which must have been his intent.

 

And yet his was not the most ostentatious robe on display. Moving through the crowd was a scythe in a lavishly gilded robe. The man was so large, his robe seemed a bit like a golden tent.

 

“Who’s the fat guy?” Wonwoo asked.

 

“He looks important,” said Mingyu.

 

“Indeed,” said Scythe Airemin. “‘The fat guy’, as you call him, is the High Blade. The most powerful man in the MidMerican Scythedom. He presides over conclave.”

 

The High Blade worked the crowd like a great gaseous planet bending space around it. He could have tweaked his nanites to eliminate at least some of his girth, but clearly he had chosen not to. The choice was a bold statement and his size made him an imposing figure. When he saw Airemin, he excused himself from his current conversation and made his way toward him. 

 

“Honourable Scythe Airemin, always a pleasure to see you.” He used both his hands to grip Airemin’s in a way that meant to be a heartfelt greeting, but felt forced and artificial.

 

“Wonwoo, Mingyu, I'd like you to meet High Blade Xenocrates,” Airemin said, then turned back to the large man. “These are my new apprentices.”

 

He took a moment to appraise them. “A double apprenticeship,” he said jovially. “I believe that's a first. Most scythes have trouble with just one.”

 

“The better of the two shall receive my blessing for the ring.”

 

“And the other,” said the High Blade, “will be sorely disappointed, I'm sure.” Then he moved on to greet other scythes that were just now coming in from the rain.

 

“See?” Mingyu said. “And you were worried.”

 

But to Wonwoo, nothing about the man seemed sincere.

 

* * *

  
  
  
  


Mingyu was nervous, he just didn't want to admit it. He knew admitting it would make Wonwoo more worried, which would make him more worried. So he bit back his fear and misgivings, and kept his eyes and ears open, taking in everything that happened around him. There were other apprentices there. He overheard two talking about how this was the “big day”. A boy and a girl - both beta, would be getting their rings today and becoming junior scythes. The girl lamented about how, for the first four years, they would have to get approval from the selection committee for their gleanings.

 

“Every single one,” she complained. “Like we're babies.”

 

“At least the apprenticeship isn't four years long,” Mingyu interjected, as a way to start a conversation. The two looked at him with mild disgust. 

 

“I mean, it takes four years to get a college degree, right?” Mingyu knew he was just digging himself deeper, but he had already committed. “At least it doesn't take that long to get a license to glean.”

 

“Who the hell are you?” The girl asked.

 

“Ignore him, he's just a  _ spat _ .”

 

“A what?” Mingyu had been called many things, but never that.

 

They both smirked at him. “Don't you know anything?” said the girl. “‘Spat’, as in ‘spatula’. It's what they call new apprentices, because you're not good for anything other than flipping you scythe’s burgers.”

 

Mingyu laughed at that, which just irritated them. 

 

“Wow that's good, I'm not offended because I know you're speaking from experience.” Mingyu laughed out in a cocky way.

 

Then Wonwoo cam up next to them. “So we're spatulas, what does that make you? Safety scissors? Or are you just a couple of tools?”

 

The boy looked like he might slug Wonwoo, from this it was very obvious he was a new world beta. “Who's your mentor scythe? He should be told of this disrespect.”

 

“I am,” said Scythe Airemin, putting his hand on Wonwoo's shoulder. “And you don't warrant anyone's respect until after you've received your ring.”

 

The boy seemed to shrink about three inches. “Honourable Scythe Airemin! I'm sorry, I didn't know.” The girl said turning and running.

 

“Best of luck today,” he told them with a wave. After both left Airemin turned to Mingyu and Wonwoo. “The girl will get her ring today,” he said. “The boy will be denied.”

 

“How do you know?” asked Mingyu.

 

“I have friend on the bejeweling committee. The boy is smart, but too quick to anger. It's a fatal flaw that cannot be tolerated.”

 

As annoying as Mingyu found the male beta, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity. “What happens to the apprentices that get denied?”

 

“They are returned to their families to take up life where they left off.”

 

“But life can never be the same after a year of training to be a scythe,” Mingyu pointed out. 

 

The building became very crowded with scythes. Airemin told them the bronze doors would open at 7am and the scythes would be dismissed at 7pm. Twelve hours to accomplish all business. Anything left undone would have to wait four months until the next conclave. 

 

“In earlier days,” Scythe Airemin told them as the doors opened allowing them in, “a conclave would last for 3 days. Soon they realised it caused to much fighting and shortened it.”

 

The first order of business was the Tolling Of Names. One by one each scythe went up and said the names of people they gleaned over the four months.

 

“We can't recite them all,” Scythe Airemin told them. “With over 300 scythes it would be more than 26,000. We choose ten. The ones we remember and want to honour most.”

 

After each name was said, an iron bell was rung. Mingyu was pleased to hear Scythe Airemin say Kohl Whitlock’s name as one of his ten.

 

Next came the washing of hands. Each scythe would wash their hands of each gleaning they did.

 

After that came scythes singled out for showing bias in their gleanings. 

 

One scythe gleaned to few wealthy people. She was reprimanded and assigned to only glean rich people between now and the next conclave.

 

Another scythe was racial. Gleaned high on the Spanic, low on the Afric.

 

“It's due to the demographic where I live,” he pleaded. “Others have had a higher ratio of Spanic!”

 

“The cast a wider net.” The High Blade turned to the next matter. “I have an anonymous note, which causes Honourable Scythe Goddard of malfeasance.”

 

Wonwoo saw Scythe Goddard whisper to his companions, then stood. “Of what sort?”

 

“Unnecessary cruelty in your gleaning.”

 

“And yet they accuse me without showing their face? I cannot believe a fellow scythe would show such cowardice! I demand this person reveal themselves!”

 

No one stood.

 

“Very well! I refuse to answer the cowardly accuser!”

 

Wonwoo expected the High Blade to press the matter. But he simply put the paper down and said it was mid morning break.

 

Airemin leaned down and whispered, “There was no anonymous accuser. I'm sure Scythe Goddard accused himself.”

 

“Why?” Wonwoo asked, subconsciously rubbing his stomach in worry.

 

“To make sure no one else will accuse him. Because now they will be assumed the accuser if so.”

 

Mingyu had made it his problem to access all threats. And in his personal opinion, the biggest threat seemed to be Scythe Goddard, and so he watched him and the inner circle closer. The woman in Green was exceptionally beautiful. But what drew his eyes was the man in yellow. He had KorAsian features, but his most noticeable difference was his eyes. They did not seem cruel like his company. 

 

Lunch would not arrive fast enough. Many local restaurants vied for the chance to cater the conclave, so lunch was a buffet - and Airemin packed his plate, which was out of character for him. 

 

“Don't think ill of him,” Scythe Scarame told Mingyu and Wonwoo, his voice sharp, but kind. “For those of us who take our vow of austerity seriously, conclave is the only time we allow ourselves luxurious. It reminds us that we're human.”

 

Wonwoo took this as his opportunity to get information. “When will we be tested?”

 

“Those whom will receive their rings were tested last night. As for the others, you'll be tested soon.” He said flipping long silver hair over his shoulder. He had a youthful face, but Wonwoo knew he was way older than his face said. 

 

Wonwoo sighed in frustration.

 

As focused as Wonwoo was on the upcoming test, he began to wonder what in conclave he would miss when the apprentices were taken for testing. Like Mingyu, he found conclave to be an education like none other. There were few people beyond scythes and their apprentices who ever witnessed and those ones who did only caught a glimpse such as a string of salespeople after lunch, who were each given 10 minutes to expand the virtues of some weapon or poison they were trying to get to sell to the Scythedom and more importantly the Weaponsmaster, who had the final decision over what the Scythedom purchased. They sounded like those awful people on info-Holograms, “It slices, it dices, but wait there's more!”

 

One sales person was trying to sell a digital poison that would turn the healing nanites in a person's bloodstream into a hungry little bastards that would Devour the victim from the inside out in less than a minute. He actually used the word victim which immediately soured the scythes, he was flatly dismissed by the weapons master.

 

The most successful salesperson was offering a product called the Touch of Goddesses, which sounded more of a feminine hygiene projects than a death delivery system. The woman selling it displayed in a small pill - but not to give to the subject. The pill was for the scythe. “Take with water and within seconds your fingers will secrete a transdermal poison. Anyone you touch for the next hour we instantly and painlessly gleaned.”

 

The weapons master was so impressed, he came up to the stage to take a dose, then, and ultimate demonstration, proceeded to glean the saleswoman. She sold 50 vials of the stuff to the Scythedom posthumously.

 

The rest of the afternoon consisted of more discussion, arguments, and votes about policy. Scythe Airemin only found fit to voice his opinion once - when it came to forming an immunity committee.

 

“It seems clear to me that there should be oversight for the granting of immunity, just us the selection committee provides oversight for gleaning.”

 

Mingyu and Wonwoo were pleased to see that his opinion cared a great deal of weight. Several scythes who had an initially voted against the forming of an immunity committee switch their vote. However, before a final tally was taken, High Blade Xenocrates announced that time had run out for the legislative issues.

 

“The subject to be at the top of our agenda for the next conclave,” he announced. 

 

A number of the scythes applauded, but several rose up and shouted grievous discontent at the issue being tabled. Scythe Airemin did not voice his displeasure. He took a long breath in and out. “Interesting…” was all he said.

 

This might have all pinged loudly on Mingyu and Wonwoo’s radar, had the High Blade not immediately announced that the next order of business was apprentices.

 

Wonwoo found himself wanting to grip Mingyu’s hand in anticipation and squeeze it until it was bloodless, but he restrained himself.

 

Mingyu, on the other hand, followed his mentor’s lead. He took a deep breath in, then out, then tried to let his anxiety wash from him. He had studied all he could study, learned all he could learn. He would do the best he could do and if he failed today there would be more than enough chances to redeem himself.

 

“Good luck,” Mingyu said to Wonwoo.

 

“You too,” he replied. “Let's make Scythe Airemin proud!”

 

Mingyu smiled, and thought Airemin might smile at Wonwoo well, but he did not. He just kept his gaze on Xenocrates.

 

First, the candidates Scythedom were called up. There were four whose apprenticeships were now complete. Having had their final test the evening before, there was nothing left but to ordain them. Or not, as the case may be. Word was that there was a fifth candidate who had failed final test last night. He or she wasn't even invited to conclave.

 

Three rings were brought out, resting on red velvet pillows. The four looked to one another now, aware that even though they had passed their final test, one of them would not be ordained and would be sent home in shame.

 

Scythe Airemin turned to the scythe next to him and said, “Only one scythe gleaned himself since last conclave, and yet 3 are being confirmed today…. Has the population grown so drastically in 3 months that we need to add 2 additional scythes?”

 

The three chosen apprentices were called one by one by  Scythe Mandela, who presided over the bejeweling committee. As each of them knelt before him, he said something about each of them in turn, and then handed them their Rings, which they slipped on their fingers and held to show the conclave - which responded for each of them with obligatory applause. Then they announced their Patron Historic, the luminary from history whom they had picked to name themselves after. The conclave applauded with each announcement accepting Scythes Goodall, Schrödinger, and Colbert into the MidMerican Scythedom. 

 

When the three had left the stage, the hot temper boy remained, just a Scythe Airemin had said earlier in the day. He stood alone after the applause died down. Then Scythe Mandela said, “Ransom Paladini, we have chosen not to ordain you as a scythe. Wherever life leads you, we wish you well. You are dismissed.”

 

He lingered for a few moments, as if thinking it might be a joke - or maybe one final test. Then, his lips pursed, his face turned red and he stroked quickly up the center aisle in silence, pushing through the heavy bronze doors, the hinges complaining at his exit.

 

“The remaining a princess me now come forward,” said Scythe Xenocrates. Mingyu and Wonwoo rose, ready to face whatever the Scythedom had in store for them


	17. From the gleaning journal of H.S. Scarame

> I do believe people still fear death, but only the one-hundredth as much as they used to. I say that because, based on current quotas, a person's chance of being lean within the next 100 years is only 1%. Which means the chance that a child born today will be cleaned between now and they're 500th birthday on Earth will only be 50%.
> 
>   
>    
> 
> 
> Of course, since we no longer count the years nomadically, aside from Children and adolescents, no one knows how old anyone is anymore - sometimes not even themselves. These days people roughly know within a decade or two. At the writing of this, I can tell you that I am somewhere between 160 and 180 years old, although I don't know enjoy looking my age like everyone else, I turn the corner on occasion and set my biological age back substantially - but like many sites, I don't set it back past the age of 40. Only scythes that are actually young like to look young.
> 
>  
> 
> To date, the oldest living human being is somewhere around 300, but only because we are still so close to the Age of Mortality. I wonder what life would be like a millennium from now, when the average life will be near to 1,000. Will we all be Renaissance children, skilled at every Art and Science because we've had the time to master them? Or even boredom and slavish behavior plague us more than it does today, giving us less of a reason to live limitless lives. I dream of the former, but supposed suspect the latter. 
> 
>  
> 
> - _FROM THE GLEANING JOURNAL OF H.S Scarame_


	18. Plans changed

Mingyu stepped on Wonwoo's toes as they headed up the aisle. The omega grunted slightly, but didn't make wisecracks about it.

 

That was because Wonwoo was too busy going over his weapons and poisons in his  head. Mingyu’s clumsiness was the least of his concerns.

 

He thought they would be led to a room elsewhere in the building - a quiet place for their exam - but other apprentices who had been to conclave before were heading down the aisle toward the open space in front of the rostrum. They lined up in what seemed like no particular order, facing the conclave like a chorus line, so Wonwoo joined the line next to Mingyu.

 

“What's this?” He whispered to his alpha.

 

“Not sure,” he whispered back.

 

There were eight in total. Some stood with hard expressions, in control of their emotions, others were trying not to look terrified. Wonwoo wasn't sure what image he projected, and found himself annoyed that Mingyu looked as casual as if he were waiting for a bus.

 

“Honourable Scythe Scarame will be the examiner today,” Xenocrates said.

 

A hush fell over the Chamber of Scythe Scarame, the Grande Dame of Death, came forward. He walked down the line of apprentices twice, sizing them up. Then he said, “Each of you will be asked one question. You will have one opportunity to give an acceptable answer.”

 

One question? What kind of exam would possibly consist of one question? How could they test someone's knowledge that way? Wonwoo’s heart beats so violently, he imagined it was bursting out of his chest. Then he would find himself waking up in a Revival Center tomorrow, a laughing stock.

 

Scythe scare me begin at the left end of the line. It meant Wonwoo would be the 4th to be questioned.

 

“Jacory Zimmerman,” Scythe Scarame began. “An omega hurls themself upon your blade, offering themself as a sacrifice to prevent you from cleaning her child, and dies. What do you do?”

 

“By resisting the gleaning, she has violated the third commandment. I therefore am I obligated to clean the rest of her family.”

 

Scythe Scarame was silent for a moment, then said, “Not an acceptable answer!”

 

“But.. The rule says…”

 

“The rule says that if one resists one's  _ own _ cleaning. Were they The Chosen One, the third command it would certainly apply. But if we are ever unsure, we are obligated to err on the side of compassion. And this case you would glean the child and arrange for the woman to be brought to a Revival Center granting her a year of immunity along with the rest of her family.” Then he gestured towards the assembly. “Step down. Your sponsoring Scythe will choose your punishment.”

 

Wonwoo swallowed. Shouldn't the punishment for failure be the awful knowledge of that failure? What sorts of punishments would scythes device for the disgraced disciples?

 

Scythe Scarame turned to a girl. “Claudette Caroline,” Scythe Scarame said, “You have made a mistake in your poison -”

 

“That would never happen.”

 

“Do not interrupt me.”

 

“But your premise is flawed, Honorable Scythe Scarame. I know my poisons well. So I would never make a mistake.”

 

“Alright then go to say someone irritated by your arrogance sabotages your poison. Your subject, a man who offered you know resistance, begins to convulse in it appears that his end will be slow and likely painful. A pain that his nanites cannot suppress what do you?”

 

Without hesitation she said, “I draw the pistol that I always keep for emergencies, and in the subject’s suffering with a single well-placed bullet. But first I would order any family members to leave the room, sparing them the trauma of witnessing a ballistic gleaning.”

 

“Acceptable. And thinking of the family is a nice touch - even in a hypothetical.” Then he grinned. “I'm disappointed I couldn't prove you imperfect.”

 

The next one was a blur and then, “Jeon Wonwoo.”

 

“Yes Honorable Scythe Scarame?”

 

The older omega leaned in close, looking deeply into Wonwoo’s eyes. “What is the worst thing you've ever done?”

 

Wonwoo was a prepared for just about any question. Any question but that one.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“You heard me.”

 

Wonwoo’s his jaw clenched. His mouth went dry. He knew do the answer. He didn't even have to think about it.

 

“Can I take a moment?”

 

“Take your time.”

 

Then some random site from the audience yelled. “He's done so many terrible things, he's having trouble selecting just one.”

 

Laughter everywhere. And that moment he hated them all.

 

“When I was eight,” he began. “I tripped a girl down the stairs. She broke her neck, and had to spend three days at a Revival Center. I never told her that it was me. That's the worst thing I ever did.”

 

“You're lying dear. Unacceptable answer, step down. Scythe Airemin will choose your punishment.”

 

He didn't argue, he didn't try to resist or try to insist that he was telling the truth, because he wasn't. He had no idea how Scythe Scarame knew.

 

“Kim Mingyu.” Scythe Scarame asked. “What do you fear above all else?”

 

Mingyu didn't hesitate. “Nothing.”

 

“Perhaps wait a bit.”

 

“Nope, don't need no more time. It's my answer.”

 

Wonwoo realised he was doing it for him,  because his stupid alpha didn't want to let him suffer alone. 

 

“So today we have one perfect apprentice and one Fearless One.” He sighed. “But I'm afraid that no one is entirely fearless, so your answer, as I'm sure you must know is unacceptable.”

 

Mingyu took his place next to his omega. “You're an idiot!”

 

After the apprentices we're done being traumatized, the focus of the cysts begin to wear down. There was now a constant murmur excites discussed dinner plans as the hour approach 7. The remaining business was of little interest to anyone. Issues a building maintenance, and whether or not scythes should be required to announce the turning of a corner so it wasn't shocking when they looked 30 years younger at the next conclave.

 

It was as things were wrapping up once a Scythe stood up to loudly address Xenocrates. She was the one dressed in green with emeralds embroidered into her robe. One of Scythe Goddard's bunch.

 

“Its troubling me how many apprentices Scythe Airemin has.”

 

“What troubles you? How so?”

 

“They are obviously comrades. I suggest we put them against each other.” Scythe Rand said. “Loser has to be killed by the winner.”

 

“I like it.” 

 

Airemin’s injections did nothing, because the bell struck 7. And it was time to leave.

  
  



	19. From the gleaning journal of H.S. Airemin

> I never meant for anyone to get hurt. I never meant to take things this far. 
> 
>  
> 
> I know what happened between my students. And I also know of the child. Both children that is, mine and my student's. 
> 
>  
> 
> I am not afraid to write this, because this is my last journal page I shall write, the rest is to be burned. I have a plan.
> 
>  
> 
> \- FROM THE GLEANING JOURNAL OF H.S. Airemin


End file.
